Grief becomes my bitter morning prayer
Tears my Evensong to a deaf, blind, unfeeling
and uncaring God. Where were you and why
this insulting silence, sadness, sorrow echoing
in the emptiness of my broken heart? Why?
O, I will not bless the Reaper's cruel hand
nor mouth hallow hymns to placate some
proud peddling of God's will.
Rather I will look death in its dark face
and defiantly drink my cup in turn
and with every breath and ounce of life
until the very end I will dance.
For in truth life and death, twin playmates
from the beginning, hiding and seeking,
each enlightens, overshadows the other
until each sunrise heralds a new night,
each twilight the approach of eternal Dawn.
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